Reichenbach
by eohippus
Summary: Sherlock has planned it out all along. Every single move in the game with Moriarty was deliberately plotted. The events of S2EP2 from Sherlock s POV. Prequel to "The Plan". Spoiler!
1. The Thieving Magpie

Hi there,

as the "Reichenbach Fall" is in large part told from John´s perspective I wanted to retell the whole affair from Sherlock´s pont of view. He must have known so many things in advance and in my view no move in the whole business has been incidentally.**  
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****WARNING: If you haven´t yet watched: DON´T READ! Spoils all your fun :-)****

_Sequel to this story is "The Plan" which tells what Sherlock was up to during his hiatus._**  
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Oh, and of course the credit for the creation of Sherlock Holmes goes to Arthur Conan Doyle and for reanimating him to the Gattis / Moffat team!

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><p><strong>"He sits motionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations,<br>and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself. He only plans."  
>(A.C. Doyle, The Final Problem)<strong>

* * *

><p>„He´s back." That´s all John says and all that I need to hear to know that the game has started.<p>

The most dangerous, the most deadly game the consulting criminal will play with the consulting detective and probably the last one for both of us. I hesitate to take the phone from John´s hand, in a futile attempt to prolong this last moment of peace.

It has been a time of ease and considerable quiet the months before the Reichenbach case caught the attention of the media and I was consigned to several prominent cases. This peace has not only been shattered by the sudden interest the public started to express in my person and my work, but much more by Mycroft´s revelations on Moriarty and his probable connection to issues of national security. He informed me that he has held him in custody, interrogating him.

The consulting criminal would only answer my brother´s inquiries and only for the price of vital pieces of information on my life and background. My brother and I agreed which parts of my life we would reveal to him, as Mycroft had already formed a plan. And I, for once, agreed on his terms.

John does not know of our secret meetings, I have deliberately kept him in the dark on how great a danger Moriarty is. Now he is looking at me, thrusting the phone forward, concern showing in his eyes, and I as I can´t prolong the moment any longer, I take it from his outstretched hand.

"Moriarty`s s been arrested," Lestrade reports. "He´s broken into the treasury, obviously he attempted to steal the crown jewels." He sounds exasperated and I notice there´s more he wants to tell me, but I cut him short.

"I´ll be at the yard," I answer, shutting the phone down.

John and I leave the flat and for once my friend does not want to know what happened and I do not elaborate. The taxi ride is quiet and we are silent until we arrive at Lestrade´s office. He files us in on everything that happened this morning, the opening of the vaults of the Bank of England, the override of security in Pentonville Prison and Moriarty´s break-in to one of the most highly protected places in Great Britain – the treasury in the Tower of London.

I watch the videotape, taking in and analysing his display of arrogance, his pompous poising on the throne, his warped image of Her Majesty – posing as the king of criminals, the ruler of lives and fates. All his actions are a trumpet signal to enter the combat. The next turn will be mine and I am already certain he has invited me to appear at court.

We pass the reporters on our doorstep without comment and rush to climb into a taxi, and I can sense John´s tension as he regards me.

"There´s no need to play smart-arse today," he warns. "Just try to behave."

"I´ll just be my usual self," I answer, sensing his unease, and turn to look out of the window.

"Sherlock, I mean it," he prods, but I do not answer.

This is my first step on the stage of Moriarty´s play and I intent to leave a lasting impression, just as Mycroft and I have agreed. The court has called me in as its principal witness, for no one has heard of Moriarty before and it is still a puzzle whether he actually had a hand in the attack on the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison. Some newspaper reports have discussed him as a deranged mind. They have opted for the theory that he is just a big fan of the royal house with the mission of holding the crown jewels in his own hands once in his life. Most people fail to see the criminal in him and I can´t really provide proof of his sinister pastimes.

Thus, it must certainly sound unreal to the audience when I describe him as a spider sitting in a net of interwoven contact and activities. This earns me credit only from him, a slight, self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips, the slightest of nods confirming my observations. The audience´s belief in my intentions wavers even more when I start to deduce the members of the jury. I make certain that I come across as much as a smart-arse who wants to impress the public with his priceless talents as possible. They must feel by now that I even consider the rules of court as stupid and irrelevant, that I follow my own rules as I make them up. I have been regarded like this by many people but now is the time to misguide them deliberately, to plant a certain image of myself in their minds. With the wide media coverage it shouldn´t be too hard to make the public believe what I want them to believe.

To complete the picture, I also deduce the judge, who, outraged, stops the questioning immediately and orders to get me removed from the courtroom and detained on the charge of contempt of court. The reward is to this is the most disapproving glance I ever received from John and a sly grin from Moriarty whom I pass on the way out.

Twelve hours of thorough thinking later – surely a prison cell has its advantages in being a quite place with not too many distractions – John picks me up from the Old Bailey and we drive back to Baker Street. His concern is palatable, but thankfully he doesn´t voice it.

The days following, he continues to attend the hearing, to report nearly every single sentence which has been exchanged to me in the afternoon. As I am banned from the trial until further notice, I resume to watch TV at the decisive moment of the hearing, waiting for the jury´s verdict.

John is at the court again, obviously worried sick about the outcome, even though it should be clear to him would he only observe, not just see, what is happening. He calls me just as I watch the last minutes of the live report.

"Released from all charges," he gasps, already rushing to get back home, disbelief in his voice: "The jury has actually released him on lack of evidence."


	2. Nemesis

**"It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes. (... ) You hope to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me.  
>If you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you."<br>(A.C. Doyle, The Final Problem)**

* * *

><p>Two days and just another secret and very intensive meeting with Mycroft later, I am alone in our flat when the front door closes softly. I brace myself to concentrate on every detail as soon as I hear the screeching of very expensive leather soles on the stairs and the faint squeak of a loose board under the weight of a human body much lighter than John´s. Tea is ready and set in our family´s antique china, and I am clad in one of my finest suits for the confrontation.<p>

My real archenemy appears, curls up in an armchair with the elegance of a serpent, sips a Darjeeling first flush and rambles on about secrets and threats. I expected those threats. Concerning the secrets, I try my best to appear calm and unimpressed.

Moriarty does not again promise to burn my heart, although I am certain he has not forgotten he guaranteed me a more than just unpleasant surprise should I not stop prying on his activities. Instead, he points out to me that he ows me, that he will do everything in his power to lead me to my downfall.

I listen, I observe and I already put together the scarce bits of information he delivers willingly, even eagerly in his attempt to reduce me to a terror-stricken victim. He is cautious, but not cautious enough to allow me the deduction that, as much as he has analysed my weaknesses, he has crucially miscalculated my personality.

The path, as much as it has inclined, has narrowed now, and I must tread carefully. From now on, I can only trust myself. I will have to omit all feelings and, most importantly, disregard my friendship with John.

He is the one I will have to be most cautious about, for he knows me best and can sense only the slightest changes in my mood. John. It doesn´t help, after all, that he is a glorious exception from all my acquaintances, that he is loyal, brave, guarding and sensitive. To protect him, I will need to lie to him and, finally, leave him.

Surprising, how much this hurts already, so much that I already react irritable to every single one of his efforts to help me or cheer me up. Pushing him away is the only cure for me now, I simply refuse to answer his questions, spit out insulting observations to him and, mainly, keep silent and busy so as to appear unapproachable.

It is crystal clear that he is worried by my demeanor, but thankfully he finally starts to eye me with suspicion, buying the charade of me as a confused human who gets slightly more depressed with every turn the events take. For once, it is reassuring that he does see so many things, but fails to observe.

Then two children, brother and sister, are abducted from their public school. Lestrade calls me in and I am immediately aware that this case has been staged by Moriarty to coax me out into the headlights again. He has not set a timeline but it is clear that urgent action is wanted.

As soon as Anderson has taken samples of the kidnapper´s footprints, I set down to analysing them in the lab at Bart´s. John follows me there, as always, and Molly is on duty, as usual. She is the one being observant this time, which is rather unexpected. She asks me why I appear sad every time John is not looking. I am lost for words, for she is right and I would never have thought I would not be able to cover the emotion which unfortunately seems to accompany my decision. But then again, Molly has known and watched me closely for a long time, as I am both a puzzle and a fascination for her.

She offers me her help and this leads me to a new possibility, an idea how I could possibly survive the oncoming confrontation with Moriarty.


	3. Arrested

**"As I passed the corner (...) a two-horse van furiously driven whizzed round and was on me like a flash.**  
><strong>I sprang for the foot-path and saved myself by the fraction of a second."<br>(A.C. Doyle, The Final Problem)**

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><p>I am still pondering my options after the children have been found in an abandoned warehouse and while I walk into the office at the Yard where the little girl is waiting to be questioned. As she screams, another part of the puzzle falls into place, and this is the moment when the magnitude of Moriarty´s plan comes crashing down on me.<p>

That the little girl is screaming at the top of her lungs at the sight of me does arouse suspicion among the yarders. Lestrade´s team is not dumb, they usually follow all possible leads and they will not hesitate to reconsider their picture of me.

Time is running out, I need to think, to consider all possibilities and thus I instruct John very curtly not to follow me as I stomp from the yard and hail the first taxi in sight. This turn out to be a big mistake, as this taxi ride is a hoax by which Moriarty attempts to crush my self-esteem even further. He basically tells me what to expect in due course: the police will get suspicious, they will want to examine the case more thoroughly and they will finally arrest me.

I feel an overwhelming rage when the cabbie turns around and Moriarty is grinning at me, his eyes black dots of pure hatred. Right now, I would kill him on the spot, for I am aware that I am his puppet now, tightly bound to the strings which will make me dance.

But not just me, he has made the yarders his puppets, too, and we all have to act on his accord, play along in his demented game. Most of all, I hate him for the seeds of doubt he is sowing into Lestrade´s mind. Lestrade, who picked me up from when I had fallen deep into the aftermath of eleven years of using drugs, Lestrade, who´s put an unwavering trust in my abilities, Lestrade who is certain that I am no liar.

Back home, John corners me.

"There will be an examination," he says."You´d better talk to Lestrade."

I sigh. "John. There is nothing I can tell him." This is not the whole truth, of course, as I can´t jeopardize the plan by cooperating with the police and as the DI in all probability will not listen to what I could tell him.

A sleepless night for me and a very fitful sleep for John follows and it is eight in the morning when the doorbell finally rings. As much as I am grateful that Lestrade wants a word with me personally, I feel regret for not being able to explain. Thus, I flatly refuse to deliver any information and the DI leaves in a fury, asking John to talk reason into me. The doctor tries, but fails because I am determined to play my role, and thus the wait for my certain arrest begins.

It is early evening and already dark when Mrs. Hudson opens the front door, the way she is talking clearly indicating her astonishment on seeing the police in. John rushes to our door, allowing me to wrap myself into my shawl and coat and pick up my phone and purse.

Lestrade is in company of his superintendent, Sally Donovan and two officers, one of which grabs my wrists to apply handcuffs while Lestrade rattles down the formal sentences. Obviously he is not happy with the situation, as isn´t John, who protests fervently.

"It´s okay, John," I try to soothe my friend, but he is too outraged, once again too emotional, to be silenced so easily.

"No it isn´t. It´s bloody outrageous," he shouts.

Lestrade rounds on him instantly, reprimanding him: "You be quiet, or you´ll be the next one in." He then orders his men to get me downstairs, exasperated, and off we are, leaving a fuming Dr. Watson behind.

But not for long. As I am standing sprawled against a police car, he is suddenly pushed into position right next to me, our hands getting cuffed together. The superintendent passes us, pressing a tissue at his bleeding nose and in spite of my role I feel a smile forming on my face, the first smile John has been getting for several weeks now.

"Fancy joining me?" I ask lightheartedly and I am glad for his undisputable loyalty, for a second forgetting the fact that I will betray this loyalty not very far from now.

"Seems it´s not legal to hit a superintendent," he gasps.

"Time to end this charade, don´t you agree?" I ask, reaching down into the police car turning up the transmitter, at the same time grabbing the weapon of the young female officer who is in the driver´s seat.

Turning in on Lestrade and Sally, I voice my threat, pushing John away from the car. Stunned, nobody dares to move, Lestrade commandeering everyone to do as I ask. His eyes widen in surprise as John calls out that he is my hostage, and I point the gun to my friend´s head, before we turn and run.


	4. A Magic Trick

**"I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence,  
>though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you."<br>(A.C. Doyle, The Final Problem)**

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><p>We are hiding at Bart´s, which will be the setting for the last act. Molly, who has promised me her help for the conclusion of this farce, has left us alone to fetch something to eat. John sends me questioning looks now and again. My appearance must worry him, for I am playing restlessly with a small ball .<p>

"Are you okay?" he finally wants to know. "Yes," I answer curtly, deep in thought. To him, it must appear as if I were disturbed by the recent developments whereas in fact they did only help to constitute my opinion that today is the right day to execute my final move.

He finally falls asleep on the floor, exhausted by our flight and as I watch him breathe I feel a sharp pang of regret on what I will need to do to him so soon. John, who has been loyal from the first minute we met. John, who flatly refused to believe that I could only minutely be related to drugs. John who shot a man to save my life. John, who tries to pry food into me whenever I neglect meals, John, who has been staying at the flat whenever Mycroft has alarmed him of one of my "danger nights" - my _friend_ John. Who would most certainly be the first target of Moriarty´s men should the criminal´s plan fail. I cannot allow this to happen and, at the same time, I must stop the Irishman from accomplishing the scheme he is currently conducting on order of a terrorist organization.

Our time has come, I admit to myself and I pull out my phone and send him my last message. We´ll be meeting on the roof of St. Bart´s and I owe him a fall.

John wakes up when his phone rings. He listens in disbelief, then reports to me that Mrs. Hudson has been shot. He stares at me in disbelief when I tell him I will not leave to see the woman who means nearly more to me than my mother. Then he proceeds to calling me a "machine", but finally he leaves. If he is doubting me even more, this will make things much easier. I am on my own now, alone and ready, and I rise to go and face my opponent.

Half an hour later I am at the end of my tether. For a second I have considered it a possibility that it would not be necessary to jump, after all. But Moriarty, by shooting himself, has not left me this option. I reel around, facing the open sky, the capsule holding the Rhododendron Ponticum dissolving in my mouth. Never before have I been so terrified by the necessary course of action. Were it avoidable, I would never go on with my act. Even with the help of Molly and my homeless network it is too much of a risk. But my enemy´s henchmen will kill everyone who is closely associated with me if they don't see me fall, as Moriarty has made only too clear to me. And, as I have assured Mycroft, I would rather die than let the madman win this deadly game.

I step onto the ledge, glancing down where the truck has been set into position. At the same moment, a taxi pulls up on the adjacent street and John rushes out. I can´t allow him to approach any closer, so I call him.

"Hello?" he asks. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he knows something is amiss, as he has found Mrs. Hudson safe and sound in 221 B.

"John," I answer. There´s so much meaning in this word: John, I´m going to die, John, this probably won´t work out as planned, John, you are the crucial key to my plan. John, I love you but I am going to betray you – but I can reveal nothing of this.

"Are you okay?" he asks, spurting into action and running towards the hospital entrance. I need to stop him.

"Turn around and walk back where you came from," I demand.

"No, I´m coming in," he answers, determined as usual to meet a forthcoming danger head-on.

"Just do as I ask," I order more strictly, a tinge of desperation and even anguish in my voice. "Please," I add to emphasize my point. That makes him stop on the spot. I hardly ever beg, and now he definitely knows something is utterly wrong.

"Where?" he asks, scanning his surroundings.

"Stop there." Fortunately, he has not passed the building yet and from where he is standing he can only see it´s corner and the hospital´s rooftop. As I tell him to look up, he gasps, realization sinking in. I am not hiding securely in the lab, I am on the rooftop, exposed to the open sky and the drop of a multi-story building, ready to tumble into the abyss Moriarty has created. John is aware now that he can´t possibly rescue me this time. He has no idea that I need him as the most reliable, whilst most vulnerable, witness to my suicide, that he is the main key to my plan.

"I can´t come down so we´ll just have to do it like this," I inform him, calmer now. The effects of the drug reduce me to this weak phrase, and my words and articulation make him suspicious enough to ask what´s going on. "An apology," I choke out. I can hardly breathe by now and take several heavy gasps to get enough air for my next three words. "It´s all true," I manage to say with a great effort. I tell John that I invented Moriarty, cementing my lie, and hear him gasp in shock. But he won´t buy it. "Why are you saying this?" he asks, puzzled.

I can only tell him again that I am a fake, that the newspapers got everything right. That I want him to tell Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and actually everybody that Moriarty was my creation. I hope fervently this will be enough evidence for the consulting criminal´s henchmen to back off.

But John, in his indefinite faith in my person and my abilities, recalls to me how I knew everything about him the first time we met. He tells me that only I could have been so clever. A short, desperate laugh escapes my lips as I realise how easy things have been and how deeply I am betraying his faith and friendship right now. I feel tears on my cheeks and I wonder if they are signs of the drug taking its full effect on my nervous system or if they are tears of regret.

Then I realise. Sometimes the most significant traces are hidden in the smallest detail. One only has to find the single detail which leads to the solution, to the truth. I feel significantly more composed as I tell John that it is all a magic trick. Hopefully, he will realise that this is the evidence I left for him to discover the truth.

But now he is far from reflection, turning into action again and firmly pacing towards the hospital. I need to stop him, so I order him to stay, my breath already labored, and to look at me. To make perfectly clear that he will remember the exact wording of our conversation I tell him that he shall consider my call as my note. Ever so slowly he comprehends, shouting at me to stop, to stay where I am.

Right now, I am weeping openly, the pain of loss and regret burning hotly in my chest, dread nearly impeding my last step onto the ledge. I am at a loss how to express my farewell, so it is only "Goodbye, John" I cry before I abandon the phone. For the fraction of a second I can see my friend shouting up to me from down below.

Then I spread out my arms and dive.


End file.
